More Folsom Prison Blues
by boscoslut
Summary: Tag to Folsom Prison Blues. The good Nurse put her hand over Dean’s heart. Damage was done. How much?
1. Chapter 1

More Folsom Prison Blues

Just a short tag to Folsom Prison Blues. Loved the episode and of course I wanted a little more Dean angst added to the mix. This will be 2 chapters... 3 tops.

Written for Jana --- enjoy meeting Jensen Ackles this weekend Sista. This ones for you.

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_Green Valley Cemetery_

Dean digs another shovel full of dirt and hoists it over the hole. He's been digging out Nurse Glockner's grave as fast as his bruised, aching, tired body allows him.

"We gotta move it," Sam says, "if Hendrickson gets to the lawyer," he looks down at Dean with an impatient look.

"I thought she couldn't say anything," Dean replies. "You know that whole lawyer-client privilege thing?" He stops digging a moment and leans on the handle of the shovel. He notes he's sweating more than he usually does when digging up a grave. Perhaps the adrenaline high he was on from breaking out of prison was wearing off. Still, his chest feels tight and breathing is becoming more difficult.

"That privilege doesn't apply, Dean," Sam shortly replies, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"So she'll talk?" Dean looks up at his brother.

"She has to," Sam looks around nervously. His gut is telling him any minute now Hendrickson and posse are going to show up and drag them back to prison. That was one experience he didn't want to relive.

"Oh that's freakin' super!" Dean goes back to his task, feeling a strange numbness and pull in his left shoulder and back. He ignores the discomfort and continues to dig for several more minutes, sighing with relief when the shovel scrapes across the top of the coffin.

"Finally," he grumbles before slamming the head of the shovel down into wood splintering it. A low moan escapes his throat when he does this but thankfully Sam doesn't hear it. He can tell he has a couple cracked ribs thanks to Tiny.

Tiny.

He still hasn't come to terms with his death... no murder... by the angry spirit. He feels as if it's all his fault. Maybe the guards should have let Tiny get a few more swings in. Perhaps he should have squeezed him in a bear hug longer. _Broken a few of his bones_. He didn't deserve his fate. If Dean hadn't initiated the fight Tiny would have never landed into the infirmary.

Same goes for Lucas. Even if he was a jerk.

Sam doesn't know he refused treatment when Deacon sent him to the infirmary. He told the on duty nurse he was "fine". At the time, aside from a killer headache and his ribs, he wasn't so bad off.

Sam never asked him if he sustained any further injuries when he admitted he had a run in with the fugly nurse and that was fine with him. They argued non stop about this case as it was. He just wanted to salt and burn this bitch and call it a night.

A few more shovel slams to rotted wood while he sucked in heavy gasps of pain, the bones of Glockner are fully exposed. Dean weakly tosses the entire shovel out of the hole and leans against dirt with folded arms as a wave of dizziness overcomes him.

"Come on Dean, hurry the hell up!" Sam shuffles his feet above Dean's face, causing some loose dirt to rain down over the top of his head, arms and shoulders. "You really did enjoy prison, didn't you? I'm starting to think you want to get caught, again. Why are you stalling?"

Dean shakes off the dizzy spell and looks up at his annoyed sibling. "I'm not stalling, Sam. I'm just tired, okay?"

Sam unfolds his arms and nods his head, bending at the knees he offers an extended hand. Dean without word accepts the gesture. He bites down heavy on his lip when Sam pulls him out of the grave faster than he was expecting. He feels a sudden pressure in his chest over his heart where Nurse Glockner touched him.

He'll check that out later. Sam's right. They don't have time for this. First things first, he stands up fully and pulls a book of matches from his inside jacket pocket.

Sam is quick about salting the bones and dousing them with lighter fluid. Dean lights up the entire book, watches the flames flicker in his hand, then drops it into the grave. The smell of death assaults his nostrils as the bones ignite.

"Come on Dean were finished here," Sam says patting his brother on the back gently. He hurriedly rounds up their digging tools and backpack, shoving everything that'll fit in with haste.

Dean trails behind Sam as they make their way back to the Impala that is parked in front of the gates of the cemetery. He tries to keep in stride with Sam but finds himself falling further behind. He subconsciously rubs at his chest, pulling his hand away fast when his flesh begins to sting as if he rubbed salt into a wound.

Nurse Glockner must have really did a number on him. It feels like his chest is burned over his heart. He knows well enough what a nasty burn feels like thanks to some backwoods hick named Bender. He still has the poker brand on his shoulder to remember that rotted teeth freak by. Still, that burn felt like a sun tan compared to the one he has now. He feels the muscles in his chest constricting and doubles over when he reaches the Impala.

Sam is slamming the trunk closed. He glances over at him. "Dean man, you okay?"

Dean waves him off and stands. "Yeah," he says out of breath. "You drive," he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the Impala's keys. He weakly tosses them to Sam before opening the passenger side door and sliding in.

Sam catches the keys and gives him a sideways glare, watching him ease into the passenger seat. The familiar creak of the driver's side door is heard as Sam opens his door and slides in, slamming it shut. He looks over at Dean who now has his head resting back, eyes closed.

"What's wrong?"

Dean opens one eye and tilts his head. He clears his throat. "Nothing. Just drive."

6 hours later...

"Earth to Dean," Sam tries again to wake his sleeping brother, this time with success.

"Whaaaaaaaa?" He opens his eyes and blinks a few times. "What's wrong Sammy?" His brother has the door open and is bending over him, his hand on his shoulder.

"Nothing. I'm exhausted and figured it would be safe to stop for the night. I changed out of that ugly orange suit already before getting us a room. I think you should do the same before heading up to it. It's on the second floor."

Dean nods his head slowly, trying to fight the pounding behind his temples. "Plates?"

"I already changed them," Sam responds, "and I paid cash for the room," he adds knowing what question is next.

"That's my boy," Dean grins as he sits up further in the seat. He's glad they are parked in a dark area of the lot. Sam doesn't see the grimace on his face. "You go on up Sammy. It's better we go one at a time."

"Yeah okay," Sam agrees, "room 14". He picks up two bags that are on the ground. "I've got your bag." With that Sam turns and makes his way up to their room.

Dean leans back and lets out a heavy sigh. He rubs at his chest again. His pulls his hand away and it is sticky and wet. Okay, so he's bleeding. He unbuttons the top four buttons on his prison issued jumpsuit, or tries to, two of them were ripped off in the struggle with Tiny, and places his hand over his heart and feels more blood oozing from what feels like a nasty burn.

Freaking great. What did that bitch do to him? She supposedly caused heart attacks to her victims. She only had her hand on his chest a few seconds. Maybe thirty, tops. Why did it take so long for the injury to appear? Was it her last attempt at him before he burned her bones?

A squad car whizzes by the motel with red and blues flashing and he instantly ducks down into the seat. He peaks over the dashboard, heart pounding out of his chest. He watches the flashing lights disappear. He curses at himself. "Damn it Dean, pull yourself together. You're going to give yourself a heart attack."

Not bothering to change out of the jumpsuit, he wraps his coat around him tight and eases from the Impala. Each step up to the second floor becomes harder and by the time he reaches room 14, he is sweating profusely and gasping for oxygen. He leans into the doorframe a few moments to gather himself.

He opens the door and Sammy looks up at him, then goes back to typing away on his laptop. He doesn't need to ask. He knows Sam is already checking news sites on their great escape. He eases the door shut and locks it. "I'm going to take a shower," he mumbles grabbing his backpack full of clothing with one hand, the other keeping his coat clasped closed.

"Make it a quick one," Sam says never looking up. "Not sure if we are safe here yet."

"Yeah," Dean agrees stumbling his way towards the bathroom.

"You okay, Dean?" Dean pauses in his tracks. Busted. He turns slowly. "Yeah, I just have some killer heartburn."

Sam just rolls his eyes at him. "No surprise there the way you stuffed down that prison food. Serves you right." The corners of Sam's mouth curl up into a small grin.

"Ha ha," Dean replies, entering the bathroom he slams the door shut.

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to all that took the time to review.

Again, this one is for Jana. I still can't believe you meet Jensen Ackles. One day we'll be friends again. It's just going to take some time to tuck away all the jealousy in my heart. I guess this chapter can be a peace offering for all the names I've been calling you behind your back. ;)

More Folsom Prison Blues

_Continued_

Sam sat mouth open watching and listening to a news clip about the escape at Green Valley Detention Center. He couldn't believe it. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, observing the digital face display.

No missed calls.

It made sense. He hadn't called yet.

A major heart attack claimed one of the guards several hours after he was attacked. How was this possible?

_It couldn't be, could it?_

Deacon.

He stood up and locked his hands behind his head. He began pacing the hotel room. They didn't burn Glockner's bones in time. Whatever she did to Deacon, the damage was done. He couldn't be saved. Were they missing something? Was Glockner still roaming the detention center?

Dean unceremoniously dropped his backpack next to the tub and leaned into the sink cabinet. He looked into the mirror at his pale sweating features. "No beauty pageants for you any time soon," he whispered to himself.

He examined the cut below his eye. The bruising was now a dark purple covering most of his cheek. Yellow mixed with violet swirled directly below his eye and wrapped around the corner of his nose, extending up into his eyebrow.

He rolled his shoulder blades and allowed his jacket to slip to the floor.

He slowly began the task of removing the prison issued jump suit. He physically winced when he pealed the now brown and crimson red stained top from his flesh. He could feel the tug over his heart as numerous scabs stuck to the garment, tearing open as they ripped away from healing skin. Blood began to ooze from several areas. He held his breath as he observed the damage.

Over his heart was what looked like a third-degree burn. The skin was charred in several areas, bleeding in others. Around the edges were a dark swollen red display of infected flesh. The most disturbing part of it was it formed the shape of a hand print.

He didn't bother looking down at his ribs. The pain there was mild in comparison.

He ghosted his finger across the tender wound and gasped, "Son of a..."

He jumped at the pounding on the door behind him.

"Damn it, Sam!" Dean grinded his teeth at the pain that flared up just about everywhere from the sudden movement.

"Hurry the hell up, Dean, I need to... use the can," Sam's voice boomed from the other side of the door.

So much for getting cleaned up. A few ibuprofen and a siesta would do him some good. He'd deal with this mess after Sam went to bed. "Hold your bladder a minute noblewoman," Dean responded. He focused on the doorknob to verify he had in fact locked it. He hurriedly began removing the rest of his soiled clothing.

"Just let me in, I'll just take a second," Sam pleaded.

"Yeah, right," Dean replied, "it takes you girls longer than a second to squat." He could practically hear Sam's eyes rolling and grinned despite the pain he was in.

Sam leaned against the doorframe. His stomach twisted in several knots he was sure he was going to vomit what little he had eaten the past couple days.

He was going to lie to his big brother. Dean didn't need to know the fate of Deacon. Knowing Dean, they'd end up right back in prison just to verify the job was finished. For all he knew the job was complete. It wasn't worth risking it. Not with Hendrickson hot on their trail. They got lucky the first time around. If Dean knew... no... he wouldn't tell Dean. He'd avoid eye contact as much as possible. Dean could read him like a book. They'd get some rest and find someone else to save. Preferably hundreds of more miles away.

He almost fell into the bathroom when Dean opened the door. Dean shook his head and weakly grinned at him. "All yours," he said motioning slowly with his head for Sam to move it.

Sam just moved swiftly out of Dean's way, allowing him to pass. The bile was climbing up his esophagus and it wouldn't do any good to respond. Hopefully Dean wouldn't hear him throwing up. Maybe he could conceal the noise if he flushed simultaneously.

Wearing only a navy blue undershirt to conceal any blood stains and a pair of black boxers, Dean shuffled his way over to his bed. Sam's laptop was still open and he thought about checking out his mug on the news. He wondered if they had a better picture of him this time around. Probably not. Just the one Hendrickson had of him during the bank robbery. The one with the deer in the headlights look on his face. He so hated that picture.

Instead he settled on unmaking his bed. With the blankets back he slowly eased his aching body onto the comforter sheet. A groan of displeasure escaped his throat as the back of his head hit the pillow. He totally forgot about the knot back there.

If he only had a dollar every time he was tossed into a wall he'd never have to resort to credit card fraud... again.

He maneuvered his body into the most comfortable position he could. He ended up on his side facing Sam's bed. One arm curled around his bruised ribs, the other wrapped into the soft blanket fabric. He could feel his shirt already sticking roughly to his chest again. Each move brought a nagging painful pull around his heart. He decided this was the best position he was going to get and seized all movement save his breathing.

By the time Sam emerged from the bathroom, his entire body was numb. His eyelids were heavy and fluttering as sleep attempted to suck him under.

"You look uncomfortable Dean," Sam said, pulling him back to reality.

"Huh?" He strained to focus on his little brother.

"I said you look uncomfortable," Sam repeated himself, "you should be used to an uncomfortable bed the nights we had to spend in prison."

Not this again. Apparently Sam was still bitter over this gig. "Not again," he voiced his thoughts. "We made it out free men, we helped Deacon, we saved lives, Sammy. You should pat yourself on the," Dean yawned around the last word, "back".

Sam bit his tongue. He wanted to tell Dean so bad. It wasn't right keeping this from him. They couldn't go back there. "Dean. We almost gave up our freedom on that gig! How many lives would be lost if we weren't free men? We were so close!"

Dean didn't really hear the question. "Small price to pay, Sammy," he whispered, eyes closing again.

Sam sat down on the edge of his bed, running his hands through his hair nervously. "You'd be willing to do that all over again, wouldn't you?"

"Damn straight," Dean replied, forcing his eyes to open again. "What's the news sayin'? Any word from Deacon?"

Sam's jawbones flinched. He leaned back on one palm, using the other to shut his laptop. "The usual. The FBI is confident they'll have us back in custody shortly. A little rest then we should hit the road again."

"Dumbfucks," Dean let out a chuckle, regretting it instantly. He snaked his hand up to his heart, gently pressing on his wet shirt front. "Deacon?" He managed to gasp, willing the pain to go away.

Sam averted eye contact as he moved his laptop to the night stand. "Yeah... no word yet. I'm sure he'll contact us once the dust settles. It's probably not safe."

"Yeah," Dean's voice was a near whisper now, "it felt so good to help him out, repay dad's debt."

Sam knew the guilt Dean was carrying over dad's death. He was dealing with a heavy dose of personal guilt himself. He understood completely why this was so important to Dean. He was already regretting his negative attitude about it. It should have been equally as important to him.

At the time, it wasn't.

After meeting up with Deacon and watching the pride in Deacon's eyes, the glow of Dean for doing dad proud, Deacon embracing them both into warm thankful hugs, he knew. He knew they had done the right thing. He knew how much this helped Dean on the road of recovery. How much it helped him.

But now... Deacon was dead. He wasn't willing to go back to prison. He knew Dean would be and that wasn't going to happen. They had no one on the inside this time. They were good, but not that good.

Dean would fry in the electric chair. He was lying to Dean for his own good.

"Get some sleep, Dean, we have to leave soon." Sam reached out clicking the light off.

"Thanks for trusting me, Sammy," Dean slurred right before giving in to rest.

Sam couldn't muster a response.

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks again for all the lovely reviews.

Thanks again Jana for the autographed picture! I am forever yours. I'll rip Dean's heart out with my bare hands if you want... or the good nurse can... just say the word. Hee!

More Folsom Prison Blues

_Continued (3 of 4): _

Sam lay stretched out on his back on top of his covers. He lost track of time. Could have been an hour. Maybe two. Despite the slight chill in the room he still felt grimy and sweat-coated. He watched the traffic on the highway for a little while through the slight part in the curtains. Thankfully they still had a nice view of the stretch of road even from the second floor.

His mind replayed over and over the turn of events. Deacon's death. What they could have possibly missed, if anything. His lie to Dean. He knew he couldn't keep this lie going. Dean would find out the second he got his hands on his laptop. Maybe he could remove the battery and claim it was busted. No, that wouldn't work. He needed to continually keep track of the news. Besides, Dean would just call some of his sources and ask them to look matters up for him.

One thing was for certain, when Dean found out he lied to him he was so getting his ass kicked.

Then there was the whole wanted by the law thing. Dean was already on the FBI's most wanted list. Somehow he had managed to escape that. Not now. Both their pictures would be posted up making their job even harder. Before Sam could step into public while Dean laid low. There was no way he was cutting his hair short or shaving his head. He didn't have the forehead for it. Maybe prison wasn't so bad after all...

The whistling and chirping of birds cued him the sun would be rising shortly, bringing him out of his miserable thoughts.

He rolled his head to the side and fixed his eyes at the still form of his brother. Dean hadn't budged since he fell asleep. It was almost pitch black in the room except for a tiny amount of light from a street lamp that was filtering in around the window frame and through the folded back curtain.

Dean had mumbled a few things over the past - how ever long he'd been laying there in the dark - under his breath but Sam didn't pay the garbled slurs much attention. Surely Dean was having some fantasy dream about something he really didn't want to hear about. Most likely he'd hear about it once Dean was alert. Much to his protest. Over breakfast. In vivid detail. His stomach rumbled at the thought of food.

He eased himself into a sitting position then slowly stood, stretching every single one of his overworked and underpaid muscles, deciding on a quick shower. He made his way to the bathroom quietly, easing the door shut before turning the light on. At least Dean was getting some shut eye. Hopefully he'd get his once they were on the road.

After stripping down Sam stepped into the tub and turned the spray on. The mildly cool water trickled down his sweaty body feeling heaven sent. He leaned into the cold tile relaxing all tense muscles, letting the prison filth wash from his lean body. He cleared his mind and let all the stress from this gig roll down his back in beads with the filth. His head down it swirled around the drain before disappearing.

Several minutes later, after washing and rinsing his hair twice and scrubbing his entire body with the generic hotel-issued soap, Sam turned the water off then pushed the off white shower curtain back. He was feeling ten times better given the circumstances.

Thankfully there were a few towels folded neatly on an iron rack over the toilet. Sam removed one of the towels and unfolded it. He held it up to the light and chuckled. It was the size of a hand towel. After patting down the excess water on his now clean skin, he dropped the baby towel to the floor, noting Dean's jacket and prison issued jumpsuit. Didn't he tell Dean to lose the hideous bright-orange-I-just-escaped-from-prison garment before coming up to their room?

"He never listens to me... idiot...scratch that... slob," he shook his head, pushing the garments out of the way with his toes. When his toe nail snagged the prison jumpsuit, he flipped it up and was ready to toss it to the other side of the bathroom when he spotted a rather large stain on the front. Blood.

"What the?" He hastily snatched it up and examined the front side. His eyes grew wide as realization smacked him across the face. Dean was hurt. Dean did say the nurse had paid him a visit while in the infirmary, but he said she had went after Tiny. Maybe he was injured in the scuffle with Tiny? "Oh God," he whispered. He hoped not. It was his idea for Dean to antagonize Tiny. It was his "really pretty sure" way of getting back at Dean for their predicament.

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The average rate of heartbeat is 72 beats her minute.

_Thump Thump Thump Whoosh..._

Hand squeezing shirt front and chest, knuckles white, Dean inhaled producing a hoarse whistling sound. He maneuvered himself to his back, still half asleep, his exhale just as painful as it was loud. He felt like he was drowning as each breath became increasingly difficult. His head lolled to the left then the right, searching for a position to allow better oxygen flow. His neck stiff from massively swollen lymph nodes, he wheezed again, this time groaning in unison.

_Thump Thump Thump Whoosh..._

The pounding in his head was relentless. He willed it to stop. Why wouldn't it stop? With each heartbeat his temples pulsed, sending shooting pains through his skull. He could feel his eardrums vibrating to the rhythmatic tune. He clenched his jaw so hard against the throbbing his teeth hurt as they bounced off each other.

_Thump Thump Thump Whoosh... _

The pain was unbearable. His eyes shot wide open and his body arched off the bed.

"DEAN!" The light was on and Sam was leaning over him, panic written all over his face. "Dean? What's wrong? Hey! What's wrong! Did Tiny hurt you? Was it Glockner?"

_Thump Thump Thump Whoosh..._

"DEAN! TALK TO ME!" Sam ripped the remainder of the blankets off of Dean, eyes darkening at the blood-soaked sheet beneath his brother. "Oh God, Dean!" He watched his brother gasping for breath, grabbing at his chest with one hand, the other around his own throat.

The pounding of his heart surpassed all sound. Sam's lips were moving but no words were coming out.

"Arrrggggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhh!" He screamed in pure agony with all he had left in him.

Tears threatening to surface, Sam grabbed at Dean's hand, moving it out of the way as fast as he could he lifted Dean's undershirt up. It was saturated with his brother's precious blood. He wasn't prepared for what he'd find hidden beneath.

TBC...


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks again for the awesome feedback.

I guess this is where I should put the warning up. I'm a hardcore angst fan...and I'm writing this for my long time friend who is one as well. Seriously, this may make some of you gross out. Well, maybe not, if you can handle all the blood on Supernatural, you wouldn't be reading here, ah:) VERY short... I had to stop and breathe.

More Folsom Prison Blues

_Continued_

Hidden beneath Dean's undershirt directly over his heart was a grotesque display of massive burns and lesions. Some of the sores were draining yellowish-white pus, a sure sign of infection. Others leaked a brownish-red thick fluid. Scabs and charred flesh extended deep into tissue. Along the edges of the hand-shaped print were covered with blackened skin and clusters of blisters that had not yet drained. The clusters varied in shapes and colors, most likely due to the amount of fluids, and what fluids, were building up within.

"Whaaaattt did _that_ bitch do- to- you!" Sam's voice broke, his mind jarred from the unexpected sight. His eyes took in the red streaks spreading from the sadistic hand print up into Dean's shoulders and neck.

_Thump Thump Thump Whoosh..._

Dean made another grab at his heart. Sam reached up and captured him gently by the wrist. "Stop it, Dean just stop it. Please? You're only hurting yourself more!" He didn't mean to sound demanding but he was panicking just as much as Dean was. He could feel Dean's heartbeat so fast and hard Dean's wrist pulsed hot within his fingertips.

_Thump Thump Thump Whoosh..._

Dean's head thrashed back against his pillow, his lower back arching off the bed. His neck extended out exposing protruding purplish veins. "SAM!" He cried out through labored breathing. "My heart! It hurts... fuck it hurts...Arrgghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

He couldn't hear a word Sam was saying. He couldn't hear the pleading words or cry of agony that escaped his own lips. The only thing that registered was pain. His chest felt heavy and so wrong, as if a vise was squeezing it tighter and tighter with each passing second. He was suffering more than he had ever suffered before and he wanted it to stop. "Make- the- pounding- stop... Saaaaaaammmmm!"

_Thump Thump Thump Whoosh..._

"Okay okay okay," Sam tried to soothe him... reassure him... as much as possible. Who was he kidding? _Think damn it think_. Was he having a heart attack? That's what Glockner did to her victims and from the sight and feeling of Dean it was definitely the nurse that got his brother good. "Just keep breathing! You fucking hold on you hear me?"

Sam left his side, temporarily ignoring Dean's hand unsuccessfully trying to pull him back to him. Dean's painful attempts at breathing caused Sam to trip over a leg of a chair in his haste.

_Thump Thump Thump Whoosh..._

Dean felt his brother leave him. Why was he leaving? Was he dying? Sure felt like it. With his eyes closed tight he never seen Sam's lips moving. With no physical touch trying to comfort him, his hand slithered back to his chest, nails digging into rough surface, warm liquid coating his cold fingertips, skin and juice embedding underneath his fingernails.

Falling flat on his stomach Sam's face landed into the object he was in search for. At least the object holding what he was searching for. He scrambled up on all fours, grabbing the strap so tightly he ripped carpet from floor. He stood tall, turning, two strides he was back by his brother's side, dumping all contents by tipping it upside down and shaking it vigorously.

When a bottle of aspirin dropped out and rolled under the bed, he threw his backpack clear across the room and scrambled for the plastic container.

He flicked the cap off with so much force tiny pills sprayed out of the circular opening, sprinkling across Dean's bloodied body, the bloodied bedspread he lay gasping on, the filthy motel floor that was way worse than the prison they were held in that started this mess!

On his knees, his own heart pounding, he dropped the bottle and snatched two pills from the bedspread and forced Dean into a semi sitting position by cupping tightly behind his neck and forcing him upward.

"I need you to do this for me. Chew these Dean." There was no time for water. He used one finger to pry Dean's lips apart, then two to wedge his teeth apart. He managed to drop both tablets into his mouth before Dean bit down hard on reflex. "Chew Dean," he grunted ignoring his own physical pain.

Jessica once told him aspirin would significantly improve the chances of surviving a heart attack. He had no time to thank her. He had no time for prayer. He had no time to tell Dean he lied to him. He had no time for anything except saving Dean.

"CHEW!"

TBC...


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks again for the feedback. Again, this was supposed to be a short angsty tag. I'll wrap it up soon, I promise.

More Folsom Prison Blues

_Continued _

Sam worked his bleeding finger out of his brother's mouth. Dean's teeth automatically clamped down again, grinding so hard against each other Sam thought for sure he'd be missing half of them _if_ he smiled again. No, _when_ he smiled again. No way was Dean dying on him. It wasn't going to happen.

He sat down on the ledge of the bed, feeling the dip in the mattress from his weight.

Sam cleaned his bloody finger by rubbing it across the comforter then covered Dean's jaw with his hand and coaxed him by reaching out and tapping him lightly on the unbruised cheek, "Come on Dean, that's right. Chew it up. Swallow it. It'll help." He massaged the back of Dean's neck by squeezing it gently within his palm and fingers. He could feel several lumps and the stiffness of glands beneath his hand. He unconsciously began squeezing harder in an attempt to loosen up the overlarge veins and muscles.

_Thump Thump Thump Whoosh... _

Several minutes passed, Dean continually thrashing around on the bed, groaning in his misery. Sam wouldn't let him touch the wound over his heart. Each time he tried Sam would move his elbow out and bat his weak hand away. Dean would just give up, so fatigued to try again his hand would fall limply to the side. He had lowered his hand off Dean's jaw and held two fingers steady over his neck, feeling Dean's pulse.

_Thump Thump Thump Whoosh... _

His heartbeat was gradually slowing down. He counted the number of heartbeats each minute. The first minute he counted approximately 295 beats and briefly thought about doing CPR. His heart hadn't stopped though and he didn't want to be forcing pressure down over Dean's major source of injury and pain. He didn't know much on the topic as it was. He would do a google search the second he was sure Dean was going to be okay.

_Thump Thump Whoosh... _

Sam counted 107 beats. The aspirin were working for now. "Thank God," he breathed a sigh of relief. "Does it still hurt? Dean?" His eyes focused on Dean's. His eyelids were getting heavy and fluttering. His breathing began to even out. With one last major intake of breath, Sam watched his eyes roll into their sockets before his brother fell lax.

_Thump Whoosh... _

Sam continued to rub his neck, feeling some of the tension breaking apart. 100 beats her minute he finally stood from the bed, easing Dean's head back down to his pillow. His hand brushed across the knot on the back of Dean's head causing Dean to moan in his sleep.

"Sorry bro," he whispered, moving his hand away swiftly.

Taking a deep breath, he looked down and now realized he was still completely naked. He'd laugh at how humorous this was. Him taking care of his injured brother while swinging freely. Maybe if Dean was coherent enough to crack a joke about it. No, nothing was funny about this. He almost lost the one person he had left in this world. He bent down and retrieved a pair of boxers that had fell from his backpack and slipped them on.

He reached out and swiped his cell phone off the miniature table between the beds and eased himself down onto the mattress. He speed dialed the number for help. When the answering machine picked up and Bobby's voice told him to leave a message, he felt hope flush down the toilet. After the beep he took in a shaky breath, "Hey Bobby, it's me, Sam. I'm going to buy you a cell phone after today... you are the only person on this planet that doesn't carry one." He let out a fake laugh. "Bobby, it's Dean. He's sick. I don't know what to do. I didn't know who else to call. We were working this case with a haunted prison... yeah it was Dean's idea to get incarcerated," he choked back a sob. "Anyway, she caused heart attacks to her victims and I dunno... she touched Dean over his heart. He has this wound that looks super infected and he... I think he just had a heart attack. I know we're all over the news and I can't take him to a hospital. Not now. They'd lock him up forever. If you could just call me back..." he ended the call and tossed his phone over his shoulder, not caring where it landed. Tears were gathering in his eyes and he closed them, allowing them to spill down his cheeks.

"I guess I'm all you got," Sam said out loud, looking over at his brother's still form. He looked so pale and fragile. He watched his eyes scrunch up in pain then relax back, the lines smoothing out. Dean could be torn to hell after a hunt yet he'd still manage to find a way to tuck his pain down and take care of him. "I'm going to take care of you, Dean. I promise I'll find out what's going on." Sam stood ready to return the favor the best that he could.

Taking every precaution he could think of, Sam had the first aid kit out and open along with clean towels and a few other instruments. First, he wanted to get a couple more aspirins into Dean's system for the pain. He felt terrible for doing this, but he had to cover all bases. He removed the flask from the night stand, Dean's flask that Bobby had given him filled with holy water, and untwisted the cap. He poured a small amount into the plastic cup that he had already unwrapped. He held the tablets in his hand and leaned over Dean. "Hey... hey man, wake up," he whispered, shaking his brother lightly on the shoulder.

Dean groaned in his sleep but didn't stir.

"Come on, Dean," he shook him a little harder. When he didn't receive a response he shook even harder, ordering out, "W-a-k-e u-p DEAN!"

That did the trick. Dean's head turned sideways slowly, his eyelids attempting to pry open. His dry lips smacked several times. When his eyes finally drifted three-fourths the way open, Sam smiled down at him, crouching to be closer. "Hey Dean, you with me?"

Dean looked up at him disoriented, eyes glossy and pain-filled. "Sammy?" His voice was hoarse and a near whisper.

"I'm here, Dean. You gave me quiet the scare," he admitted.

Dean tried to slowly sit up and instantly regretted it. The painful stretch across his entire chest had him involuntarily crying out again, "Ooowwwwwgaaawwwdddddd. Ooohhhhh!" Sam put his hand down on his shoulder forcing him back. "Relax, Dean, just relax. You've been through a lot."

It took a few minutes for Dean to gather his bearings. Finally he spoke again, "Sam? What happened?"

"You ah... I don't know. Glockner hurt you pretty bad. I think maybe you suffered a heart attack. Do you remember anything?"

Dean let a growl escape his throat as if saying, _oh hell yeah I remember now_.

"Dean. I know you are not up for this yet but there is something I have to tell you. Deacon, he," he cleared his throat. There was no sugar coating what he had to say. "Dean he's dead." He watched his brother's eyes widen then took in the look of disbelief. He continued, "He lived a few hours after we burned her bones so I'm guessing either we failed this job or perhaps, I don't know maybe she got her hand on him before we ended it and it was just too late for him. Maybe that's what happened to you? Maybe she didn't have her hand on you long enough to cause an instant heart attack but the damage was already done?"

Dean was silent but Sam could tell his mind was hard at work. After a minute he couldn't take it anymore. "Dean, please say something?"

"Have you checked to see if anyone else has died since Deacon?" He started to get up again, wincing he looked down at his bare chest and took in the damage. "No wonder I feel like shit," he hissed.

Sam helped him into a siting position this time, both arms around his shoulders. "I haven't had time yet. I've been worried sick about you."

"I'm fine Sam," Dean lied, shaking off the dizzy spell just sitting up produced. If he were being honest, he would have admitted he felt like he was dying. This hurt far worse than the electrocution/heart attack via rawhead and his own carelessness.

"I want to get you patched up first Dean, you are not fine," Sam replied, his tone firm. "Here take these, I need to clean your chest up." He handed the pills over to Dean who reluctantly scooped them out of Sam's hand. Sam reached for the cup of holy water, eyeing Dean up as he did so. Dean wasn't possessed or anything, what was he thinking at the time? This was foolish. Desperate for answers was all he could come up with. Still, it was water and it would do the trick.

Dean popped the pills into his mouth with shaky fingers. Sam was ready to hold the cup to his lips for him but Dean gave him a perturbed expression. "I got it," he groaned grabbing the cup from him. As the small cup shook within his grasp, several droplets splashed over the rim of it landing on his chest wound. Dean tipped his head back and a guttural growl escaped his lips when his chest began to sizzle, smoke rising from the wound.

TBC...


	6. Chapter 6

Sorry for the delay. My comp went down and this one isn't that great. The fan keeps going out so I had to type fast. I hope it's not confusing. I'd love to hear what you readers think is going to happen. Remember, this is just a short angsty tag and the finale will be up shortly, if this comp allows. :)

More Folsom Prison Blues

_Continued..._

Sam took a step back on reflex as Dean's chest wound smoked and sizzled.

Dean's arm flailed off the bed smacking hard on the night stand, smashing the thin paper cup he was still holding. The remaining holy water was forced from the cup with the pressure, saturating his hand, wrist and lower arm. His head tipped back fighting the new wave of pain, he growled out a few choice curse words, balling his other hand up he began to pound on the mattress as if the action would bring relief.

Sam's mouth wide open at the sight before him, he stood frozen. His mind couldn't comprehend what he just witnessed. It didn't want to. His face flushed with mixed confusion, all he could do is stare.

Maybe Dean's theory about her was right. She felt like a vigilantly claiming the lives of prisoners before she died and after. She took Dean because he was a law breaker. But, he was a law breaker too. He was not innocent. Not by a long shot.

Was it all an act? Dean in physical pain over what Glockner did was an act? Why? His brother was possessed this entire time by her?

Why didn't she already claim him as a victim? He was with Dean every minute since they left the prison. She had plenty of opportunities.

He wasn't by his brother's side their entire stay at the detention center. That wasn't by choice. He wanted Dean to watch his back every second of every minute of every hour. Dean fit in and he didn't. Maybe she possessed Dean from the start? That's why Dean fit in so well?

Why did she take Deacon's life? He was a guard to the prisoners. She had claimed one guard's life already but it was known he wasn't a decent one. Unless she thought Deacon wasn't an honest guard... unless... she felt he was a bad man because he helped them escape. That could be it. Or maybe she didn't care who was good and who was bad now that she was an angry spirit. Perhaps she just gave every man she came in contact with a heart attack now that she was on the dark side. But still, why was he still alive? How could she kill Deacon then jump over into Dean's body?

None of this made any sense.

Where the hell was Bobby? He needed back up. The older hunter was always reliable when they needed him. The one time he couldn't make a lick of sense out of anything he wasn't around.

He was so deep in theories and mixed thoughts he didn't hear his brother calling his name, over and over.

"Sam? Sammy? SAMMY? SAM!"

Sam snapped out of his thoughts and focused on Dean.

He was struggling to stay in an upright position. Both his legs were now grounded to the cheap carpeted floor, one arm extending into a locked brace, hand gripping the night stand tightly, the other wrapped around his mid section coddling his injured ribs.

He was leaning forward, having tried to stand up three times to his brother that looked like he was about to pass out himself. His heart was out of control but with the nasty wound over it he didn't dare touch it. He offered his body the only reprieve; holding his busted ribs.

All tries to stand unsuccessful he resorted to calling his brother's name, then yelling it. He was ready to attempt to stand again, even if he collapsed, but thankfully Sam came around.

"Dean?" Sam's voice and eyes expressing more uncertainty than he could handle.

"The one and only," he gasped, confused by the reaction he was getting, "what is it? You okay?" He leaned forward again ready for another futile attempt at standing. Sam kept eye contact with him, taking an immediate two steps back, his arms jerking out in front of him. "Stay back!"

The fast response startling him, Dean flinched causing him to lose purchase. Sinking back down into the mattress he hissed in pain, "Damn it Sam..."

Sam's mind now focusing on one thing, he began to glance around the room in search of a weapon. "Who are you? Glockner? What do you want?"

"What?" Dean watched his brother looking around the room frantically. "Sam... you know who the hell I am." It hurt to even speak. Now Dean's heart was beating fast again, and not because of anything the good nurse did. Sam's actions were scaring him.

Sam looked directly at him, menace in his hazel eyes. "My brother always salts the door and windows the second we hole up somewhere to sleep." His tone was accusing and downright unsettling.

Dean tilted his head to the side, disbelief on his face overriding the pain. "Sam. I was hurt... wound..."

"ALWAYS!" Sam shouted, zooming in on the flask that had managed to stay on the night stand upright. Holy water would do the trick. He'd have to run for it after that. Run away from the spirit or whatever the hell was possessing his brother's broken body. He had nothing to restrain Dean and he certainly wasn't going to injure him any further. He had no clue what was inside of him. The fact that Dean hadn't put up a fight yet was confusing. What ever this evil wanted from him should have gloated by now.

Dean's eyes trailed over to where Sam's were. It instantly clicked in his mind like a jigsaw puzzle. "Sammy... my chest may have done a snap crackle pop but I assure you, I'm not possessed. We burned that bitch."

"Anything is possible," Sam replied flaty, his best poker face on. The one Dean taught him.

"What? You think that white-haired one-eyed crazy bitch took over my body?"

"Anything is possible," Sam repeated.

"Look at me, Sam, I can't even stand," Dean admitted, exhaling deeply. "I don't know what she did to me...but please... I'm hurting Sam. I don't have the strength for this."

Sam glanced over at him. Dean was in fact deteriorating and here he was threatening him. Showing no comfort. He knew the trickery of evil yet his shoulders slumped. Evil was going to win this one because he couldn't stare at his brother in the shape he was in. His brain was so scrambled.

Their eyes locked habitually again.

It was going to hurt but he had to prove to his brother it was still him. "I guess what they say is true. Prison changes a man." Dean grinned through the pain and slowly reached out, gently easing the flask off the stand to his lips. "Cheers," he winked, taking a big swig.

Sam watched him guzzle it down with his shaky fingers. The puzzle clicked when he noticed the water drops still hanging on for dear life off Dean's arm hairs. The holy water didn't affect his hand and Dean knew he wasn't possessed all along.

So much for trickery.

"Um, Dean?"

"Yeah, Sam. I already knew."

TBC...


End file.
